“I want to hold you,” he begged at his mommy’s knee, arms upraised toward her, little toes tipped his almost two-year-old body up and down expectantly.
“I want to hold you too,” she said. She bent in half, her long brown hair veiled a smile I knew she wore. My daughter-in-law placed hands on both sides of his square padded body and heaved him up to her chest. Dimpled arms squeezed her tight at the shoulders then slithered up around her neck. He lay his head against her while she buried her nose into the top of his soft blonde head and breathed in his perfume. Like one they stood, in a million chaotic mommy-son daily moments, just routine, a moment of bliss. Craziness of toddler demands melted in one brief snuggle.
She rubbed her nose into him until he squirmed and giggled. He pulled back to look into her eyes, pure mirth bubbled from his lips. They laughed with pleasure spilling over them, out from them. Little hands covered both sides of her cheeks and his forehead rested inches from hers, their blue eyes locked.
“I want to hold you,” I hear again his little whine. Its plea is my heart’s cry.
I feel it in my tiredness. I sense it deep inside, waves pulling me from solid shore. I fear the apathy and cold of its riptide. I
“I want to hold you,” I whisper at the feet of Jesus.
In my need I think of my grandchild and remember who holds me.
“…I also have been taken hold of by Christ Jesus.” Phil. 3:12; HCSB.
I stumble, I wobble like a child. I get overwhelmed by things surrounding, but like the Apostle Paul, I am reminded Christ has taken hold of me.
“Not that I have already reached the goal or am already fully mature, but I make every effort to take hold of it because I also have been taken hold of by Christ Jesus.” Phil. 3:12; HCSB
Jesus has made me his own. His embrace lifts, steadies me and draws me to Himself. I want to grow up to be like Him.
My grandson slithers down and gallops away, content to have spent a moment in the presence of unconditional love.